


a friend in need is a friend indeed

by morallyambiguous



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Power Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2012-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morallyambiguous/pseuds/morallyambiguous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaldur has always been there for her in her times of stress, it's long past time she return the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a friend in need is a friend indeed

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a five times fic of five times Kaldur comforted Artemis and one time she comforted him. However, there's also a power swap, so Kaldur is Green Arrow's new apprentice, Shado, and Artemis is Aquaman's protege, Aqualass, so the circumstances are a little skewed.
> 
> *Rant* (I will not have any of the Aquagirl bullshit here. It's stupid. Aqualad is Aquad*lad*, so Aquagirl should be Aqua*lass*)

_Mount Justice_

_August 10, 13:01 EDT_

When she gets tired, as she often does on the surface, she thinks of her Queen, back in Atlantis with a child on the way, and of her mother whom she knows loves her.  She also thinks of her sister and father, but those thoughts are more regretful than she would like them to be.

The air here on the surface tires her almost infinitely, and wears on her already short patience. 

She’s meaner on the surface, in this world that she doesn’t really know, far away from her queen and her mother, with only her King to guide her and her gills and tattoos that show that she is _different_. 

She does not know how to feel about the surface world.  For all her strengths, she knows that her king could easily go back to Poseidonis and find another apprentice, and that fear visits her at all hours, in her dreams, when she is reading, and, most importantly, now, when she is trying to spar with Kid Flash.  “Artemis!”

Which does not help her situation at all, as she falls from a swipe at her knees, her water bearers fall to the floor, and she screams.  She can’t move her ankle, can’t even feel half of her leg, but she can feel Kaldur’s strong arms picking her up, and she can feel her blush because holy σκατά, this is embarrassing. 

Not that she really cares when her ankle is jostled again; she bites her tongue hard enough to draw blood.  “Calm down, Artemis.  You’ll live.”  Kaldur’s voice is calm, soothing, and almost enough to distract her from her pain, until her ankle’s jostled again.

The journey to the med-bay is mostly silent, with only her sharp inhalations and small whimpers breaking the silence; her mind comes up with a constant narration as to what torture she was going to subject Wallace to when the pain ebbed; why in Poseidon’s name is her ankle hurting so bad?  

In Atlantis, sprains are rare; breaks, almost unheard of, here it is possible and infinitely easy. Kaldur sets her down on a cot before heading toward a med-kit. 

She watches him with wary eyes, he is an unknown element, a replacement for Roy, who Wally didn’t like almost as much as he didn’t like her, but he’d joined the team easily enough.  Her King’s voice echoes in the back of her mind, telling her to _“be careful around that young man, Artemis, he is not all that he seems,”_ but she finds it hard to be careful around him when he was so, for lack of a better word, himself.

He was a quiet boy, although she is hesitant to call him anything but a man, reflective and patient. 

She sometimes thinks that he would be better suited to leading the team than she is, but knows that wouldn’t go over well with Wally or Roy.  He had secrets; she had hers, but she had also held her secrets longer than he has, and has the benefit of time and their trust on her side. 

He pulls a thick apron, the kind that doctors use to cover a body during an x-ray, and starts the x-ray machine they have in the med-bay.  He is comfortable with the machine, setting up the lens and the computer with an ease that speaks of experience.

“How do you know so much about medicine?”  She doesn’t realize that she’s spoken aloud until he looks up at her, amused.

“My mother runs a small clinic, she’s a pediatrician; I work there sometimes, don’t tell anyone though.”  He says this with a wry smile, as if it’s a joke.  If it is, she doesn’t quite understand, and wishes, not for the first time, that she knew more about surface world culture.

“So you wish to be a doctor, then?”  She says as she watches him take her x-ray.

He shrugs, “I guess, my mother… she wants me to do whatever makes me happy, and my father does too, but college is expensive and… she worries about me when I’m away from her.  She’s afraid for me.”

She wants to ask him what his mother thinks about his night-time activities, but stops herself, realizing that it isn’t her place.  She’s mildly tempted to ask anyway, just to see what his response is.

He must see something in her eyes, because he sits on the bed next to her, “People, cops mostly, don’t shoot at superheroes as much as they do other… people wandering around at night.”  There’s anger behind his words, and a deep, deep, sorrow.  She thinks of the news.  She watches every day in hopes of staying informed and understanding more of the surface world’s culture.  And thinks that she understands; understands the whispers and the rocks and the sheer blind hatred that the worlds imply.  She places her hand over his, and her words are halting.

“In Atlantis…  My hair is not…  It is not a good…”  He turns to her, confusion in his face, and she can see him closing up.  His hand twitches under hers, but she holds it firm. 

“Almost five centuries ago, when Atlantis first sunk beneath the waves, an evil man, Kordax, tried to take over the first city.  Thousands of Atlanteans died, and hundreds more were displaced, even today we find descendants of those who spread us across the globe. And to this day his name is feared, people are afraid that something like that will happen again. That they’ll be torn from their homes and be unable to ever return.”  This is more or less true, but she can’t help but feel that it’s impossible to explain the _sheer terror_ that stories of Kordax inspire in children, and the way people even now rarely speak his name, the way two syllables can silence a crowd of thousands.  “Blond hair is a “mark of Kordax,” and the people of Atlantis fear it.” 

She sighs, looks away, and fights hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  “Until two decades ago, it was law to… kill those born with hair “bright with unholy evil.”  To save the people from another massacre, another displacement.  It was not until shortly after our King came into power that the law changed.  Add to that the fact that half-Atlanteans tend not to be looked upon favorably, and I do not exactly look like your typical Atlantean.” 

Her mother’s people are still considered Altanteans, but they originate from the South China Sea, one of the displaced groups, and are more like mythical depictions of Selkies than your typical Atlantean. 

She rubs the back of her neck, a nervous trait from the surface that hadn’t taken her long to pick up.  “What I am trying to say is that I understand.”

His eyes, almost silver in the light, shine with understanding, edges losing their harshness; he tilts his head at her, considering her, but if he had anything to say, it was blocked out by the buzzing of the machine.  Instead of getting up, he pulls the screen to them, frowning at the image lightly before turning back to her.  “You didn’t break anything,” he says, his voice is subdued, soft.  “You only sprained it, you should be better in a week.” 

He smiles at her then.  She brushes her hair back behind her ear as she blushes and realizes that he has a beautiful smile.  She curses her body for betraying her and quickly composes her face.

“Well, I don’t know what this says about me, but I think your hair is gorgeous.”  He says, and he moves a strand away from her face.

Well, she thinks, I think that you are gorgeous as well.

He looks at her in shock, and she realizes that she said that out loud.

And then he laughs, a full out laugh, head back and smile wide.  “I would’ve said the same to you, but I was afraid that you would hit me.”  He takes her hand and kisses the back of it; she’s fairly certain that she’s blushing to her toes. 

“Why would I do that?”  And no, her voice does not crack, that would be ridiculous.

“I’ve seen you hit Wally, and that is not anything that I want happening to me.”

“It will not happen to you if you get me an icepack.”  She says, red again, but smiling.

He hops off the bed, and stands in front of her.  “Hop on, milady.”  On anyone else, actually, everyone else, the words would’ve been mocking.  But she knows Kaldur and she knows that his tone is both serious and cordial.

She slides onto his back, arms curling around his neck, and legs settling on his hips.  She thinks back to the old movies that Wally and M’gann like watch, and takes her cue from them.  “Go forth my noble steed.”  He chortles, and her face is starting to hurt from all of the smiling she’s doing.

“Off to the kitchen we go your majesty.”

On the walk to the kitchen, she may or may not return his kiss to her hand with one to his cheek, but that’s not really their first kiss so it doesn’t quite matter.

 

\------------------

_Northern India_

_September 23, 21:36 IST_

The team, her team, does not trust her.  She tries to not let it hurt her as she goes through the motions.  It doesn’t work.  Sportsmaster had been the one to tell them, and while Roy was aware of her… _history_ with the man, the rest of the team is not, and does not understand why she took the information with a grain of salt.  __

She honestly does not think that they understand how to run a team, and that it probably why they aren’t leaders.  She’s not even sure that she’s entirely fit to be a leader.  When she has time to think her decisions are always clear-cut and well thought-out, but in the heat of battle, it is easier to follow the siren’s call of her emotions, and it has cost her many a ( _jade **jadeJADE**_ ) fight.

This fight is making it hard for her to stay detached.  She can still feel Superboy’s hands at her shirt lifting her up high as he screamed at her, and she can hear Kid Flash and Robin’s resentful words, as if she honestly meant for M’gann to get hurt.  M’gann, who is her best friend on the surface world, almost as lost as she is in the complicated social constructs and customs. 

The urge to fight back, to lash out, still burns just beneath her skin, and that is why, she tells herself, she is alone, not because her team cannot stand the sight of her.  Her anger will do her no good here, in these jungles far from home. 

There are people to protect; she has no time for emotions.

Behind her she hears something move, her hands are only a millisecond too slow, and the elephant nearly steps on her.  She hears something over the stomping feet of the elephant, and watches as an arrow neatly plants itself in the elephant’s collar.  It gives her enough time to rip the damned thing off the poor beast’s neck, and she watches in mild satisfaction as it thunders away.

She looks to the brush, where the arrow had come from, and sees Shado.  She smiles lightly at him; he doesn’t smile back, but he does nod, before turning back toward his partner, M’gann who lays in wait deeper in the jungle.

Two more elephants thunder her way, and Captain Marvel is close behind them.  She pulls out her water bearers, and feels the thrum of pure power that rushes through her every time she uses them.  She launches herself into the battle like a woman possessed, and lets a little of her lost confidence—trust—return to her. 

There is at least one on the team who does not question her judgment, and while she had no doubts about her ability to lead her team _(she is unique: one of a kind.  this is what she tells herself),_ it is nice to know that she is trusted, even when she is not completely sure that she trusts herself.

 

\------------------

_Mount Justice_

_October 16, 16:21 EDT_

Waking up on the cot that she laid on felt a lot like trying to fight her way through smoke, it filled her lungs and hurt her body, but as soon as her eyes are open her body feels complete, healthy; whole.  She turns to get off the cot, but with the first steps of her feet on the ground her legs falter and she _falling, falling, just like in the dream she just had, just like she was dying (again)._

A strong arm curves under her back, holding her up when her own body had betrayed her.  The arm brings her closer to the body it belongs to; then she’s surrounded by strong arms that are holding her tight, and there’s a hand tangled in her hair, holding her body close to theirs.  She breathes deep and smells sandalwood and the remnants of what was probably chamomile tea.  She breathes easier.  “I am fine, Kaldur.”  She mumbles against his chest.

He rests his chin on her head.  “I thought you died.”  His voice is flat, even more so than usual; his hands grip her hips in a way that would be hard enough to bruise if she was human.  She has to remind herself that this is inappropriate ( _and, **oh** , how she would love to be inappropriate_), as she pushes lightly against his chest.

“It was just an exercise, Kaldur, I was not truly dead.”

His arms tighten around her even more, and as she listens to Batman and Martian Manhunter explain what happened, she wonders how much this will change her team. 

How much it has already changed them?

It is not until later that she realizes that this whole exercise has not left her unscathed. 

The night is dark, and even the light coming from the elegance coral is not enough.  It is oppressive and drowning, surrounding her, and she can feel it weighing down on her chest like an anvil.

She attempts sleep, and perhaps that was her first mistake.  As she sleeps all she sees are her failures as a leader, to be the first to die simply because she was _too slow_ ; leaving her team to struggle without her chips at her pride.

And then she dies and she floats through her dream screaming because the dark is choking her and no one is _saving her_ and she’s already dead and _she’s dying again how is that possible, Poseidon please **make it stop.**_

A hand pulls at her shoulder.  There’s a voice screaming at her ear. And she can breathe again, and there is light, and she’s surrounded by sandalwood and chamomile for the second time that day.

“Kaldur, forgive me—“Don’t” He interrupts her.

“Thank you, but I should get back to sleep, perhaps you should—“I’m not leaving.”  At any other time she would be angry, she does not appreciate being interrupted, but she can still feel the cold darkness of her death.  She doesn’t want to be alone _(ever again)._

Kaldur looks at her, and for the first time she sees how _old_ he looks.  She knows that if she looked in the mirror, she would look just as old. 

Crime has aged them more than their bodies could ever hope to achieve. 

She pulls back her covers; with some hesitation he climbs in beside her, and she’s struck, not for the first time, by how much smaller she is than him.  He pulls her body close to his.  They’re both shaking; scared of things so far out of their control it’s not fair.

She falls asleep in his arms.

It is a peaceful sleep.

 

 \------------------

_Mount Justice_

_December 30, 17:57 EDT_

Artemis sighs.  “My father…”  Her left hand tangles itself in her hair as she tries to keep her voice steady, the thick gold strands ground her. 

“One thing that you all need to understand is that I am not fully Atlantean.  My father is Sportsmaster.  And my sister…”  She thinks about her sister, who had always strongly taken after their mother’s Selkie heritage, thinks of her pelt, still hanging in the back of the closet, waiting for its owner to take it back out to the sea.  “My sister is Cheshire.  My mother is retired now, but she used to go by the name, Huntress.” 

The three profiles light up the screen and she can’t face the team—can’t face _her team_ , not when she’s lied to them for so long. 

Not when she’s kept something from them that _could get them killed_.  The knowledge had kept her awake at night, well aware that she did not deserve to be their leader, was not fit when her very existence threatened the lives of her soldiers. 

A hand rests on her shoulder. Her attempt to shrug it off is met with a tighter hold.  The grip loosens, and strong arms are pulling her back, making her face her team, and even though she can’t see him she knows that it’s Kaldur, because he’s been there for her from the beginning, continuously and consistently, even when the rest of the team may have had their doubts, he had never faltered.

He was not usually one for physical affection, at least, not with the others nearby, but she’s learned that she’s something of an exception.  His chin rests on her head in a parallel of that night almost a month ago.

“It doesn’t matter to us.”  Is what he says, and he turns her to face the rest of the team who has not shunned her, not spurned her, not rejected her because of the circumstances of her birth.  But that’s not all she hears in his voice, in his words.

_(“It doesn’t matter to me.”)_

_  
_

_ \------------------   
_

_Southern America, Country Unknown_

_November 31, 21:12 PST_

They should have seen this coming, should have known that they existed on some sort of watch list.  The Light still lives, and should they wish to continue their schemes unhindered, her team will need to be… taken care of.  It is that knowledge that hangs at the back of her mind as she hangs from her wrists, tied to the ceiling, back to the wall, and water-bearers out of reach.  __

Kaldur lays shackled to the wall next to her, still unconscious.  She can’t help but worry, it is all she can do for now, there has been no captor to taunt them, and she suspects there will be none for a while.  She looks at Shado, her teammate, and really _takes in_ his features for the first time.

She has observed him before (perhaps more than is her prerogative as team leader, but she is the only one who knows that), but she has never taken the time to actually look at him.

He’s beautiful, he really is; it is no surprise, but as she looks at his face she sees none of the dangers that her King warned her of.  She sees nothing that would warrant the warnings, and is glad she disregarded them all those months ago.

Thinking of those months past she can’t help but worry for her team, her attempts to contact M’gann have been useless.  The walls are soundproof, the shackles are unbearably tight, there is no water nearby, and her feet can’t even touch the ground (the fact that this is what disgruntles her the most probably say something about her, so she’ll pretend that it doesn’t).

He stirs slowly, and if he notices the shackles, he pays them no heed, instead turning straight toward her.

“So what’s the plan, Boss?” There’s a teasing smile on his face, but it is hard to hide the visible twitch that her left eye gives.  He manages to pull some sort of lock-pick from his pocket, and she idly wonders how he had any room for that in his suit.  It leaves… _little_ to the imagination.

In short order she is free, falling into his arms as the shackles that hold her to the ceiling become loose.

She pulls the door off of his hinges, and motions for Shado to leave before her.  “After you.”  She bats her eyelashes in a way eerily reminiscent of Zatanna doing her best prep-school girl impression, and dodges his light love-tap.

If it were any other place at any other time, their conversation could have been considered flirting.  But they are on a mission, deep in one of the Light’s many bases, and there is no time for that here.  As she runs alongside him though, she does think that it is nice.

 

\------------------

_Gotham City_

_July 4, 0:00 EDT_

There is one thing she will never deny about Gotham, the night sky is beautiful; the night sky from Wayne Towers is even more so.  Kaldur is plainclothes, and so is she.  She comes up behind him, her footsteps loud, so as not to startle him.  She sits next to him, feet dangling hundreds of yards from the ground. 

He starts to stand up. 

She places her hand over his, “Stay.”

He stops moving, but doesn’t sit back down just yet.  She interlocks their fingers as best as she can, and not for the first time, curses the webbing between her fingers.  “Please.”

He hesitates before sitting down.

She does not say anything, despite the fact that she yearns to tell him that she _understands_ , but she remains silent, looks out over the Gotham skyline, and holds his hand firmly.

They could have been there for an hour, or two, or three, she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, but she can tell them that he did start speaking eventually.

“My father is Black Manta.”  He says hollowly; she wants to tell him that yes, she already knows that, but she holds her tongue.

“My father is _Black Manta_.”  And there is the anger.

“Why… Why didn’t she _tell me?_   How am I supposed to accept that? ”His breaths come in faster and faster as his speech gains speed.  “How am I… How am I supposed to stay on the team, am I some sort of mole?  What if I turn out like Roy?  My father’s a mass-murderer, how do I know that it doesn’t run in the family?”  He’s hyperventilating now, shaking; not getting air.

She decides that she’s had enough.  She grabs his face, turning it towards hers until he is looking her dead in the eye.

“Kaldur, because I am your friend, I am going to ignore the fact that you indirectly implied that I am a serial killer.”  She sees the connection occur in his eyes, and cuts him off before he can even begin.  “However, because I am your friend, I am also going to tell you that you are a complete idiot.”

“I want you to repeat after me.”

He opens his mouth, she is quick to cover it.  “The sooner you do it, the less painful this will be for everyone involved.  Now, repeat after me:  I am not my father.”

“…”

“Kaldur.”

“…I am not my father.”

“I am not my mother.”

“…I am not my mother?”

“I am my own person.”

“I am my own person.”

“Nothing will change that, so long as I retain my free will.”

“Nothing will change that, so long as I retain my free will.”

Her forehead rests against his, silver eyes look into ash eyes, only centimeters separating them.  “You are a fantastic hero, and an even better friend, do not disrespect yourself or _me_ by saying that you aren’t.”

She kisses him then, soft lips resting lightly against his, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.  His hand trembles, the beating of his heart deafens him, and there’s no describing the pleasure-pain in his chest relief, and joy, and grief, and understanding mixed in one small place that’s never been equipped to deal with all of those emotions.  The tenderness is not something that he feels like he deserves right now, but she holds him like fragile like sea glass, as if he’ll hurt her if she grips too hard, but he’s too precious and wanted to ever consider letting go.  Her hands haven’t left his face, and he covers them, their fingers weave together as much as her webbing will allow.  The kiss ends just as gently as it began.

“…And you are a great man, Kaldur, never forget that.”

He rests his head on her shoulder and feels like he’s been given a clean slate.  Feels like there’s a whole new world opened up to him that hadn’t been there before.

“Thank you.”


End file.
